A Chance Meeting
by Avoline Malfoy
Summary: You're walking along the street, but today is no ordinary day. NO SET CHARACTER OUTSIDE OF SHERLOCK, WRITTEN FROM THE READER'S POV


_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

_And I am now Sherlocked._

_Why do I keep finding myself sucked into one fandom after another? I'm like a magnet for fandoms, and every time I turn around, I'm a part of yet another._

_Anyway, I wrote this not with a specific original character in mind. I wrote it so that you, the reader, can insert yourself. Be you male or female, I kept everyone of every orientation in mind. I so hope you enjoy it, and I hope I got Sherlock as close to character as possible. I know he's a bit off-character, but I'm sure he isn't a total jerk all the time. He did apologize to poor Molly, didn't he?_

_So, sit back and enjoy! And let me know how I did. If you enjoy it, I'll write more Sherlock fanfics. Might even do an original character in one or two, with sequels and complex story lines._

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

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You walk along the street, your coat the only barrier from the cold winter breeze. You're just now going home after a long day at work, and all you want is a warm cup of tea and a good book. You don't even want to read the news. It'll just be another murder that's been solved by Sherlock Holmes.

Someone bumps into you, and before you know it, they're running away with your bag. You scream for help and start running after them. You need that bag. It has the keys to your flat inside, and without those, you'll never make it inside.

Suddenly, someone steps out of a cab and knocks the thief to the ground. The stranger picks up your bag and saunters towards you.

"I believe this is yours," he states flatly.

"Yes, it is," you reply, gently grasping the bag. "Thank you, thank you so much!" You look up, only to find that the hero of the crisis is none other than Sherlock Holmes himself.

You instantly look away, but it's too late.

"Oh, you poor thing, your nose is about as red as an apple," he begins. "And your hands have got to be nearly frostbitten. The skin under your nails are blue."

"I'll be fine, thank you," you whisper. "I've only five more block before I get home."

"Nonsense," he argues. "You won't last another five minutes out here! Come inside. Let me fix you a warm cup of tea." His hand closes on your elbow, and you're shocked at the strength in his grip. You realize very quickly that he would never take no for an answer, and you follow him inside the door to 221B, Baker St.

"Excuse the mess," he calls, leading the way to the upstairs portion. "I don't usually invite people inside like this."

"It's okay," you reply, looking around. There's scientific equipment on the table, and a random assortment of odd objects everywhere. For a man who was been called unreadable and unpredictable, he's about as transparent as glass.

"Have a seat, tea will be ready in a bit," he instructs, and you sink into the empty chair nearby.

"I take it you're a big science fan," you inquire, hoping to know more about the mysterious, handsome man. You turn to see a shocked expression on his normally stoic face.

"How did you," he questions, only to falter before he can finish what he's saying.

"The scientific equipment on the kitchen table," you start. "It's been very well taken care of, but used very often, as evident by the fogginess of the slides sitting next to the microscope. There are various objects around, most of which appear to be replicas of human body parts. Which could only mean that you are very interested in any form of science dealing with the human body, which would include diseases, anatomy, the way the human body reacts to different bacteria, and the way different parts of the body react to different stimuli."

He stares at you, his jaw hanging. You blush and look away, realizing all too late that you just used his own talent to figure him out. You wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he ordered you to leave right now.

"That is absolutely amazing," he laughs, and you look up to see a huge smile painted on his face. His sea foam eyes dance as he finishes the tea and brings two cups to the den. "You actually understand how to deduce things about someone simply by their surroundings." You smile and graciously accept the warm cup.

"Most think that it's a talent reserved only for the exceptional mind," you state, taking a sip of the liquid.

"In all honesty, it is," he counters. "Many people simply look and see, but they never observe." He takes a sip of tea, then smiles at you. "Which means that our minds are very much alike." You smirk.

"So, aside from the fact that I was close to hypothermia, what can you deduce about me simply from what I'm wearing," you shoot back, glad to find someone who appreciates the talent.

"Your coat is fairly worn, which means that it's probably the warmest one you've got," he begins, a huge smile on his face. "You're hands are bare, meaning that you don't currently own a pair of gloves, probably cause the money you make is spent on rent and food, leaving you with nothing left for any extra. You were walking, either for your own good health or because you don't even have enough for a cab fare. You said your flat was five blocks away, which leads me to believe that the job you have doesn't pay you nearly enough to survive. You're barely making do, and it's probably a good thing our paths crossed."

You manage a smile, though tears line the edges of your eyes. You pray that he doesn't notice.

"You seem to be better at it than I," you whisper. He sets his cup down and rises from his chair, kneeling before you and taking your still cold hands in his.

"Don't think for a moment that it changes what I think," he reassures, and you know instantly that he is never like this with anyone else. "You are something special. The rest of the world is just too dull or thick to notice." You look at your hands, too ashamed to look him in the eyes.

"You don't mean it," you mutter.

"Yes, I do," he argues. "Your mind is amazing, absolutely amazing." Your gazes meet, and you can see an emotion that you can't quite identify. "And I'm going to be quite honest with you: I think you just stole my heart." You laugh, and soon, he's laughing as well.

"How would you like to try and take it back," you murmur. His eyes darken, and before you can blink, his lips are on yours. You kiss him back, hoping that this would lead to so much more. His hand slides up your arm, gripping the back of your neck. You can feel his barely contained strength, and are very much aware that he could snap your neck with ease.

His tongue swipes across your lips, and you open your mouth to him. A content moan vibrates in his chest, and you slide your now free hand up the front of his shirt. He pulls away long enough to shed hid coat, which you find gives him the appearance of being taller, then his lips are on yours again. His fingers deftly undo the front of your own coat as his mouth moves to your neck.

"I should warn you," he whispers against your skin, your coat now laying forgotten on the floor. "I... I've never..." You grip his shoulders and push him back, meeting his beautiful eyes.

"It's okay," you sooth. "You'll know what to do. Just trust your instincts once the time comes." He smiles, but you can still see the nervousness in his gaze. You lean forward, kissing him again while slowly unbuttoning his shirt. His hand grasp yours, and you find that he's pulling you towards a room. As the door opens, you realize quickly that it's his bedroom, made obvious by the poster of the periodic table on the wall. You close the door behind you, and his body is pressing against yours. You can feel his arousal against your stomach, and you moan at the thought that it's all for you. You finish the task of unbuttoning his shirt, and he un-tucks it from his trousers.

His chest. You run a hand over the smooth expanse of skin, feeling the taunt muscles underneath. His breathing is ragged, and you know that he won't last long once every bit of clothing is gone.

His fingers grab the edge of your shirt, and you gasp as he yanks it over your head. Just as swiftly, his fingers tweak your nipples, drawing a moan from you.

"So bloody perfect," he breathes before taking one of your pert nipples between his teeth. You throw your head back against the wood, a bolt of pleasure shooting through you. "Oh, this will be a good study."

"You can study afterwards," you groan, grasping his trousers. He chuckles as he grips your wrists.

"Oh, no, no, no," he scolds. "Guests first." You give him a curious look just as he yanks your own trousers off your hips. You yelp, remembering that you had not put on underwear during your rush to get to work. "Oh, you little minx." Your face heats up as you look away.

"Was in a hurry," you mumble. He laughs, then lifts you in his arms and carries you to the bed.

"I wasn't complaining," he commented, gently pulling your boots off. "I am curious, though, how often you go with no knickers on." You laugh, finally bare from head to toe.

"Not often, really," you answer. He chuckles, his fingers ghosting over the inside of your thigh. You moan, the light touch only heightening your own arousal.

"So sensitive," he muses before leaning towards your sex. You put a foot on his shoulder, and his eyes meet yours.

"Slow down, tiger," you instruct. "Remember, you don't even really know what you're doing." He grins and climbs onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

That's when you notice that his trousers and pants have disappeared.

"Shed them a few moments ago," he explains. "And you're right: I don't know what I'm doing." His lips meet yours. "I was simply hoping to drag it out for you." You reach between your bodies and grasp his erection.

"Why don't we go ahead and get the whole not knowing part out of the way," you murmur, guiding him to your entrance. He gently pushes against it, and you wrap your legs around his waist. "It's okay. I'm not quite that fragile." He chuckles, which soon turns into a gasp as he slides into you.

"I'm also stronger than I appear," he forces out, pushing his way in until he's fully engulfed. Bead of sweat have formed on the skin, and his breathing is labored.

"Just take a moment," you instruct. "It's a bit overwhelming at first." He nods, resting his forehead on yours.

"Oh, God, it feels amazing," he moans, pulling out a bit and pushing back in. You gasp, and can instantly feel his gaze upon you.

"It's okay, don't stop," you order. He pulls almost all the way out, then pushes back in. You hear a broken groan pass his lips, and he does it again.

Soon, he's pounding into you like a pro, his name passing your lips like a mantra. You grip his arms, unable to form a coherent sentence. You can feel your orgasm building, and you slide a hand up his back.

"Let it go," he moans. "Cum for me."

And you do. Your walls clamp down around his penis as a wave of pleasure washes over you. Your nails dig into his arms, and just as you begin to come down from your post-coital high, you hear him keen into your ear. Warm fluid fills you as he releases inside of you.

He collapses to the side and pulls you close to him, panting hard. You snuggle into his chest as he slowly catches his breath.

"That was amazing," he breathes, stroking your arm. You smile and kiss his cheek. "We shall have to do this again."

"Sounds good to me."


End file.
